


Back to the Ashes

by Hinn_Raven



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/F, Happy Ending, Homecoming, Nostalgia, Purple Hawke, rogue hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Fade, after the Inquisition, after the Wardens, Hawke goes home to Kirkwall and Merrill. She promised she would, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of Hawke feelings after DAI, okay? And I need Hawke and Merrill to have a happy ending.

Hawke doesn’t send word ahead—Kirkwall is still hostile to her, its former Champion. She slips through back alleys and shadows, hands never straying from her father’s Key. She pauses, briefly, in High Town, looking at Fenris’s mansion and the Keep, feeling ancient as she longs to go inside and see Fenris reading or Aveline going over old reports. But Aveline has orders to arrest her, and Fenris is gone to hunt slavers, his letters few and far between.

She does not go to her old estate—nothing is there for her, not anymore.

The streets are ripped up again—Sebastian’s armies had torn apart her city. His betrayal still stings—she had _trusted_ him, and he raised an army to slaughter innocents because of her refusal to kill Anders— _her friend_.

Anders, who had endangered Bethany when he had taunted Meredith into slaughtering the Circle. Anders, the healer, the killer, the catalyst, her companion, the one who fed stray cats and healed refugees, who killed the Grand Cleric and made her _choose_.

Anders, gone now. Gone with the rest of them. The clinic’s been burned to the ground—Hawke doesn’t know if it was by the refugees or the Templars. It could have even been Anders himself. Hawke doesn’t know. She’s not sure if it matters.

She passes the docks, and stares out to the Gallows. She knows Meredith’s statue is there—and nothing else. Templars and mages have both fled Kirkwall—to join the fight, the war.

She hopes the Inquisitor will be able to keep her promise of peace. Varric seems to think so, but then again, he’s Varric.

She goes to Lowtown, checks in on Gamlen. He’s surprised to see her—Charade is off with the Jennies again, so she doesn’t get to see her cousin. She tries not to slump at that—she misses her family. She hasn’t even seen Bethany since the war began—the only word she’s received are snippets from Varric’s friends and a begged word out of “Sister Nightingale” back at Skyhold.

“How’s my favorite uncle?” She says brightly, grinning at him with a levity that she hasn’t felt in ages. His home is decorated with things salvaged from the Estate—family portraits, Carver’s old sword, even Wesley’s shield are there now. There’s a lump in Hawke’s throat, but she ignores it.

“I’m your only uncle,” he grouches after he finishes jumping and glaring.

She laughs, pecking him on the cheek. “How are you?” She asks, softly. “How are things?”

“Well enough,” he says brusquely. “Now, you should probably run off. I don’t want an angry mage knocking down my door because her wife didn’t come straight home to her.”

“You’re still mad you weren’t invited to the wedding? But eloping with an apostate is a _tradition_!”

Gamlen snorts but crosses his arms.

“It’s not as if any Chantry would marry us,” Hawke reminds him, grinning. “We were lucky the Dalish didn’t mind.”

“Shoo, you,” he says. “Bring her around for dinner if you must, but shoo.”

She laughs and leaves, refusing to glance the other direction, where the Hanged Man is. She hasn’t been in ages—she wonders if the whiskey still tastes like rat droppings. She wonders if that awful poet is still there, trying to seduce pretty girls with terrible lines. She wonders if people still tell Varric’s stories.

A part of her wants to go, to drink cheap ale and listen to bar songs and just… _be_.

But there’s no Varric or Isabela to watch her back, no Anders to heal her bruises, no Fenris to play cards with, no Sebastian to make blush.

She can’t stand the idea of going there without them.

The alienage hasn’t changed at all—the tree still grows tall and proud, and the stalls still sit there, abandoned now that it’s night. It still smells _awful_ , and she slips through it unseen, wondering if there will be slavers out tonight.

But the alienage is empty, and she reaches Merrill’s door without interruption.

The door is locked. Merrill never used to lock it—she always was confident in her magic to protect herself. But times have changed.

Hawke doesn’t have a key—but then again, she would have been extremely disappointed in Merrill if Merrill had thought that Hawke had _needed_ a key.

The door swings open.

Hawke steps in.

Merrill is in her room, the Eluvian, perfectly mended but unworking still, sitting on a chair scavenged from the Estate. Papers lie on her lap, and Merrill flips through them, brow furrowed in concentration.

Marric, Hawke’s elderly Mabari, is flopped at Merrill’s feet, dozing fretfully His fur is greying in places, and Hawke smiles fondly when she sees him.

Merrill doesn’t see Hawke, preoccupied with whatever she’s reading. Her glossy dark hair is pulled into a twist at the back of her head, and her vallaslin is striking in the flickering firelight. She looks tired and worried and too-thin, her beautiful green eyes surrounded with dark circles.

“Merrill,” she says, and her words come out choked and heavy.

Hawke leaps to her feet. “Hawke!” She cries out, the papers flying everywhere.

And then Merrill is there, and they kiss, laughing and crying and clutching and touching, reassuring each other that they are alive, that they are together, that they’re here.

They finally break apart, arms still wrapped around each other. “Varric didn’t say you were coming! He said you were still with the Wardens!”

“Haven’t had time to write to him,” Hawke says. “I’ll slip a P.S. onto your letter, I think. Give him a bit of a laugh.”

Merrill frowns, eyebrows scrunching up in an adorable manner. “That’s a bit mean, don’t you think? He’s very worried about you—”

“I’ll make it up to him later,” Hawke says, laughing, before kissing her again, short and sweet and loving. “Is everything good here?”

“Better now,” Merrill says. “Aveline’s been checking on me sometimes. And I just got a letter from Fenris! He says he should be back soon, and Isabela says she might visit soon as well—”

That’s when Marric wakes up, and Marric’s _ecstatic_ to see her, knocking Hawke over and licking her enthusiastically—her punishment, probably, for leaving him behind.

She laughs and hugs her dog, burying her face in his fur and clutching at the last person she has left from Lothering. He smells _awful_ —Merrill never has been good at remembering to bathe him—but it’s also familiar and it’s _home_.

“Will you stay?” Merrill asks when Marric finally gets off Hawke and lets her stand up.

“As long as I can,” Hawke says. “I’m not sure Kirkwall will want me hanging around, after all. But no more missions. No more fighting. I’m home, Merrill. As long as you’ll still have me.”

“Good,” Merrill says. “Because next time you leave, I’m coming with you. Varric said you went into the _Fade_! You always get into trouble when I let you go off on your own!”

“I don’t do this on _purpose_ , Merrill!”

Merrill kisses her, pulling Hawke down slightly to get her on her own level. “That’s why you need me,” she points out. “We’re safer together.”

“Agreed,” Hawke says, although she’s grateful that Merrill wasn’t with her in the Fade. It was bad enough that Varric was there, and that Stroud was there. Merrill being there—the thought was too painful.

Marric bumps Hawke’s shin, making a huffing noise. “No, I’m not going to _stop_ ,” she tells him. “Shoo. Merrill and I need private time.”

He whines, plaintively.

“Oh, go find Aveline and let her know I’m back. Or go bother Gamlen. He’s managed to get rid of all your fur, you better reclaim your territory.”

“ _Woof_!”

“Yes, I think Gamlen _would_ appreciate a big kiss from you. Now go.”

Marric gives her a skeptical look and then trots out, off to find something to do.

Merrill laughs, sitting on the edge of her bed. “It’s funny, watching you talk to him. I mean, I know he understands—but it’s still funny.”

“He’s the most intelligent conversation I’ve had in months,” Hawke declares dramatically, shedding her cloak and draping it over the Eluvian. “Wardens are _annoying,_ Merrill. It was all “duty and sacrifice” and “Warden Secrets” and “I have a stick lodged so firmly up my ass that I actually can’t leave military stances”.”

Merrill laughs. “Anders wasn’t like that,” she reminds her.

“True enough.” She slips off her boots and weapons, and then sits on the bed next to Merrill.

“I’ve missed you,” Merrill says softly.

“I love you,” Hawke says, tilting Merrill’s head slightly to kiss her. “Now, I believe talking can be saved for later.”

Merrill laughed, and nodded, faking a serious look. “I suppose so.”


End file.
